Up On The Rooftop
by LiveLaughLoveReadForever
Summary: What if Christine met Erik on the rooftop instead of Raoul? Would she realize her feelings for the masked man? Or would she push him away because of the crime he had committed? "The moon is flawed. It had dents and craters from astroids, but it was still beautiful. Ask anyone and they'd say the same. It was true. Not all things that are beautiful have to be perfect."


_Summary: What if Christine met Erik on the rooftop instead of Raoul? Would she realize her feelings for the masked man? Or would she push him away because of the crime he had committed?_

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Christine climbed up the stairs towards the roof in rush until she burst into the open air. Her chest was heaving and her bodice felt too tight, but she didn't give it any attention. It was a beautiful night; the stars were shining brightly and the moon was full and bright, but she barely noticed. The horror of what she had just witnessed made her weak and exhausted. Her shaking legs finally couldn't hold her up any more and she collapsed onto the snow-covered roof. Her vision was blurred with tears. She was terrified.

Erik killed him. The lifeless body that had hung down from the rafters was hanging there because of him. She knew it. He hadn't told her yet, but she knew it was true. She felt it in her heart. Buquet was a good for nothing old man. He was often drunk and hitting on the ballet rats (much to their usual displeasure), but that didn't mean he deserved to die. Christine knew the real reason Buquet had died. He had been spreading rumors. Rumors about the Opera Ghost. He had known too much. More tears streamed out of her eyes as realization hit. The fact that Christine had been scared to believe was true; Erik was the Opera Ghost. There was no way around it. Erik was the Phantom and he was a murderer. That wasn't why she was scared though.

Her commonsense was telling her to be afraid; to be terrified. Her teacher, her friend, her _angel_ was a murderer. His beautiful, graceful hands had taken life. How many times had she been alone with him? How many chances had he had to take her life?

But she recalled the way he looked at her sometimes; his eyes filled with love and adoration. The way the smallest brush of his gloved hand against her own would cause him to slightly shiver and look at her in absolute awe and wonder before he would bashfully turn away from her. The way whenever she would give him one of her shy, small smiles he would instantly return it, no matter what he was doing.

But he had murdered someone. Someone she knew. Someone she was almost friends with. And Christine knew, deep in her gut, that he had taken life before. It was so obvious now, though. Those scars she saw on his arms sometimes when his sleeves would roll up without his consent. They were from his troubled past. She had always assumed that his past was awful, but she didn't know how bad it really was. He had killed Buquet and countless others, but why did she want him to be there with her, comforting her? Why did she still want to see him? Why did she want to run into his arms and have him embrace her? Shouldn't she be terrified of him? Shouldn't she think that he's evil? Shouldn't she be disgusted by the very thought of ever seeing him again? It didn't make sense.

Christine thought about the feelings he caused in her. The happiness she felt around him. The sense of comfort and home she always felt when he was near. The caring way he looked at her when they were talking. The way he hardly ever kept his eyes off of her own; almost as if he was afraid that when he looked away she would be gone. She thought about how, when their lesson was over, she dreaded going back to her dressing room and often wished she could stay longer. Then there was that strange feeling she always felt whenever she was around him and even when she thought about him.

She had never been able to give the feeling a name. A thought came to her, trying to help her identify the feeling.

_Is it love?_ she thought. Christine quickly shook her head at the idea, but her heart knew it was true. She had never been in love before. Sure, she loved things; her father, her friends, music, the opera, Madame Giry...things like that, but she had never been in love. And Christine knew, without a doubt, that that was the emotion that she had been feeling. She thought about the signs that were so obviously there. If she had asked anyone what they thought the emotion was they would promptly said, "love".

_Really?_ Christine asked herself bitterly, _I come to the realization now?_

She shook her head angrily, her curls bouncing around her head, causing the snowflakes that had started to stick in her hair to fall off onto the roof. Her tears had slowed down in falling and only a few were still falling down.

"I love him," she murmured. Saying it aloud took a huge weight off her shoulders and she knew it was true. Despite the situation she was in, a huge smile had broken out on her face as she said it. "I love him. I love him. I love him." Every time she said it her spirits would soar and would make her smile grow a bit. The hard truth hit her though. She realized that she was admitting to loving him. A murderer. And then she realized something even more shocking; her feelings for him hadn't changed when she found out about Buquet's murder. Did that mean...she didn't care?

_No, _a voice in the back of her head said, _It means you love him despite that. _

"Christine?" a familiar voice called. She stood up and turned to face the owner of the voice, even though she really didn't want to see him. "I've been searching everywhere for you!"

"Raoul..." Christine sighed wiping away one of the tears that were streaming down her face.

"Are you alright?" Raoul asked nervously. His face was shining with concern and worry for the beautiful singer.

"I'm ...fine," Christine assured him not forgetting about how she must look; her eyes wide and red, her hair coming out of it's complicated style that they had put it in for her role as the pageboy, and she had run off before anyone could talk to her. She must seem most certainly _not _fine.

"You've been crying...," said Raoul worriedly stepping closer to her. Christine took a small step backwards before she was aware of what she was doing. She silently berated herself for stepping away when all he wanted to do was help.

Christine didn't respond. There really wasn't a response for what Raoul had pointed out. He heaved a deep sigh and became extremely intrested in his shoes. There was a brief silence, before he looked up again with wide and concerned eyes.

"Christine, are you sure you're alright?" Raoul repeated.

"Yes, I'm fine. Are you?"

He mutely nodded at her. "You should...you should...come inside."

She shook her head quickly. The idea of going inside sounded torturous. Inside was where Buquet's body was. Inside was where her friends were at, no doubt gossiping about the Opera Ghost and how Buquet was killed. Inside was where patrons would be shocked and upset at the body hanging from the ceiling and she'd have to act like it hadn't happened and continue with the show. They had a saying at the Opera House; _The show must go on. _Christine had always agreed with that. She had danced through a sprained ankle whenever she had hurt it onstage. Once she had even continued to dance when her dress had torn in the back, trying not to draw attention to herself. But now she found that she didn't agree. She wished the audience would just all go home. She wished that the directors would just refund them all of their tickets, saying that Buquet had slipped on a rope or something and had gotten strangled, since he was often drunk. But they didn't and she knew that she would _have _to go inside soon.

"I'll come in soon. Before they get too worried or wonder where I am. I just need a little time to myself. Some fresh air."

Raoul nodded, understanding more than she though he did. He turned and was about to go back inside. "I'll see you after the show, Christine. Good luck onstage."

"Thank you. I'll see you later," nodded Christine relieved that the young man had agreed to leave her be. He smiled in response and turned and went inside, leaving Christine with her thoughts. She glanced upwards at the beautiful moon that lit up the sky. It was full that night and was shining brightly. She closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. When she opened up her eyes she saw the same yellow moon as before, but she felt different. Something was different. She felt eyes on her back, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. Christine quickly turned, looking for the person who was watching her. The rooftop was empty, save for herself, though. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized who was there; the Opera Ghost. Erik.

With her heart in her throat, she stepped foward, squinting into the dark shadows that were on the roof. She couldn't make anything out, though. She had always found comeplete darkness frightning and her eyes always took more time than normal people's eyes to adjust to the dark.

"Erik?" she squeaked out. Christine mentally cursed her voice for breaking. Silence was the only reply for a few moments and Christine wondered if her realization and Buquet's death had sent her over the edge.

"Yes, my dear?" asked a beautiful melodious voice from right behind Christine.

_How did he get behind me?_ Christine wondered vaguely before turning to face the masked man behind her. He was taller than her and had to tilt her head upwards to meet his eyes.

"Erik...," she sighed breathing in his scent. It was dark, mysterious, beautiful; just like him. Because he was beautiful. Just not in the way most people expected. Most people expected beautiful to be perfect, unflawed skin, perfect teeth, fair hair, but somethings that were flawed were just as beautiful. Her gaze was drawn to the moon for a moment.

_The moon is flawed..._the thought was unexpected, but not unwelcome. The moon is flawed. It had dents and craters from astroids, but it was still beautiful. Ask anyone and they'd say the same. It was true. Not all things that are beautiful have to be perfect.

Erik tilted his head to the side with a confused look on the unmasked half of his face.

"What is it, _mon ange_?" Erik asked. He raised one of his slightly shaking hands towards her face, as if he was going to push back one of the curls that were now hanging limply around her face, but it fell back down before he did. Christine was slightly upset that he didn't actually do what it looked like he was going to, but she pushed it aside for the time being.

"Erik," she said softly, "Did you murder him?"

His whole body tensed and he looked down at the ground, not meeting her eyes. "Yes."

Christine felt her body deflate and her heart sink. The tiny bit of hope she had, had left was shattered and she glanced behind Erik's dipped towards the dark sky. The moon once again grabbed her attention. It was almost as if she was drawn to it. Just like she was drawn to Erik. Maybe the moon and Erik had more in common than she had once thought.

"Oh, Erik..." Christine sighed not knowing what to say to the man in front of her. The man that she loved. A tiny smile graced her lips at the thought of her love for him. She forced it away, though, when she remembered the subject they were talking about and the situation they were in. She sighed again and looked at Erik. His face was still angled downwards and his mismatched eyes wouldn't meet hers. His breath was coming out in uneven breaths, creating a puff of white in the cold air and his hands were still shaking. The white mask was facing up at her blocking both his disfigured cheek and his undisfigured cheek from her eyes. A surge of hatred ran through her towards the thing that was blocking him from her. Even whenever it didn't hide his unmasked side of his face, it blocked him from her. It blocked the _real _him.

Christine shakily raised her hand towards the unmarred side of his face and cringed when he instinctively leaned away from her touch, obviously remembering how she had ripped the white mask off of his face when he had first brought her to his lair. She raised her hand in a way to show that she wasn't going to rip it off again and delicately pressed her palm against his cool cheek. Erik sighed against her touch and leaned closer to her hand.

Christine, _his _Christine, was willingly putting her hand on his face. Even though she knew what he looked like underneath the mask and, yet, she didn't mind. She really was an angel. Oh, the joys of haivng her touch his face! A light shudder passed through him as she caressed his cheek. She even knew that he had killed and she was willingly- That thought brought him back to reality. He jumped backwards in shock and tried to ignore the hurt look on Christine's face. He opened and closed his mouth a few times in shock before looking at her like she had fallen from the sky.

"What...Did...I...But...The...What are you doing, Christine...I...Did you not hear what I said?" asked Erik with shock written on his face, "I murdered him. I did! I murdered him!" His voice began to rise to a shout. His anger, worry, and distrust clear. All of which he was using to guard the glimmer of hope that had flared in his chest when she had put her hand on his cheek. Hope was a dangerous thing. He had learned that as a small child. It was one of his first lessons. For a moment, he flashed back to when he was child and had dreadfully hoped his mother might give him a kiss, everytime she didn't his heart would break along with the hope. He knew that getting your hopes up was just as painful as any whipping.

Christine's words jerked him out of his thoughts. "I know."

_ I know...I know...I know..._the words seemed to bounce around Erik's head, filling him with hope. The promise of happiness was just within his reach, but Erik was scared to reach out and try to grab it, knowing the pain whenever he just couldn't reach it. He tried to squash the hope that was building in the pit of his stomache, but he couldn't seem to put it out.

"But," Christine finally added, "while I'm immensely upset that you murdered someone who I knew-who I was friends with...I just...I just want to be with you right now. I need someone to comfort me. Someone I care about and trust and who cares about me too."

Erik stared at the soprano opera singer, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes practically bugging out. This wasn't real life. He had to be asleep. Or he was just fantasizing. That was the only explanation for what was happening at the moment. She wasn't really here. This Christine was just a production of his own loneliness. The real Christine had to be onstage, singing her heart out for the audience. She smiled wistfully up at him and he decided that even if this was just a hullicination, he didn't want it to end. She cautiously stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Erik felt tears spring to his eyes. No one had ever hugged him. Not even his own mother. And now, here she was, hugging him just like he was a regular person; even though she knew what he was. He blinked quickly a few times trying to keep the tears from falling.

His hands were shaking worse than they were a few moments before and he reached out to carefully embrace her back. His breath caught when he didn't feel her pull away in disgust, that he was hugging. After a few moments, a soft sob escaped his lips. She instantly tensed at the noise and made to pull back from his grasp to see his face. He quickly pulled her back to his body, though, not wanting her to see the tears that were about to slip out of his eyes.

"Erik, are you alright?" Christine asked trying to see that taller's face.

"I'm fine, my love," replied Erik. His voice gave him away. It was wavering and a pitch above normal. His shaking hands reached up and stroked her hair softly, carefully; almost as if he was afraid that he wasn't comforting her right.

"Erik?" Christine said wiggling a bit out of his grasp so he could see his face. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, making them seem never ending in the moonlight. Before she could help herself her hand snaked up and pressed against his unmasked cheek. He sighed and closed his eyes with a small smile on his face, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Christine smiled at how happy and peaceful he looked. She ran her finger softly over part of his upper lip. His body was racked with an almost violent shudder and instantly pulled back afraid that she had hurt him.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked quickly concerned.

"No," he breathed out, his voice still wavering, "You did not hurt me, my dear." _In fact, that was perhaps the most incredible sensation I have ever experienced. _

"Good," she said glad that she hadn't caused him any pain.

Christine shyly smiled up at him with big, curious, hoping eyes. He returned the smile with his usual nervous half-smile that made her heart leap. The small smile gave her a small burst of confidence and she stood up on her tip-toes so her face was even with his. They were so close that she could feel his breath on her lips. His shaking hands were still pressed against her back and were completly still. His entire body was still in anticipation of what she was about to do. Erik had once promised himself that he would always do whatever it took to make sure he never got his hopes up, but that oath was long forgotten as his heart beat hopefully in his chest at the closeness of Christine's mouth.

Slowly, deliberately, Christine brushed her lips lightly over his own. He shuddered violently at the sensation and felt a few of his tears slip down his cheeks. Slightly faltering when she felt the change from skin to the mask. She lightly pressed her lips to his own cold ones, wishing the mask away. Resentment for the white barrier bubbled up inside of her, but it was quickly overpowered by the bliss that was coming from the feeling of his soft lips on her own.

Erik had never felt so much joy in his entire life. He vaguely wondered if his heart would give out because of the sheer pleasure of her lips pressed against his own. If he did die from such bliss, he would die the happiest man in the world. He had always been so sure that he would grow old and die without ever being kissed. The sensation was almost too much for him to handle. His tears started falling at a quicker pace than they had been a few moments before.

His tears left damp streaks across his skin. He silently prayed that she wouldn't feel them up against her own cheeks, but she did. At first she couldn't figure out what was creating the moisture that was on her cheeks.

_Tears_, Christine realized. She pulled back, slightly alarmed. Why was he crying? Tears were streaming down the uncovered side of his face and were clogging up his eye that was on the masked side of his face. She reached up and softly wiped away one of the tears that were trailing down his face. The show of comfort seemed to make the crying worse. His whole body was being racked by the sobs and he was practically bending over because of the intensity of them.

"Oh, Erik!" cried Christine pulling him into another hug, stroking his hair, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry!"

That only brought on another round of sobs. He had never been comforted. People usually scorned him, laughed at his tears, took pleasure in seeing him hurt and in pain. But Christine...she was upset that she had made him upset. Genuinely upset! And he wasn't even crying tears of pain. He was crying tears of happiness; something that had never happened before. Something that he would never even have dreamed could happen. He had never even thought that crying could be brought on by happiness. Sure, he had stories about people crying from happiness, but he had always thought that they were lying or stretching the truth.

"Oh, Christine!" he cried out between gasps, his voice still melodious even though he was crying as hard as was.

"Erik!" Christine replied, tears forming in her own eyes as she thought of how much pain she must have just have put him in to make him cry like he was. "I'm so sorry! I'll never do whatever I did to make you cry like this again! I swear!"

Erik shook his head violently, causing Christine to jump and his mask to become slightly askew. "No!"

"_What_?"

He froze and pulled her close again. His shaking hands were hesitantly awaiting her approval to every little think he did. He let out a sigh of relief when she didn't jump out of his arms when he had hugged her tightly. Without thinking, he buried his face in her hair and took drank in her scent. It was perfect; just like everything else about her, and Erik couldn't get enough. Her smell reminded him somewhat of roses. His favorite flower. He smiled a bit to himself at that thought.

Erik sighed and pulled back, realizing what he was doing.

"Forgive me. I-" Erik started.

Christine pressed a finger against his lips to silence him. Her attention was once again drawn to the white mask that was blocking half of his face. Christine secretly wondered what it would be like to kiss him without the barrier of his mask. A light blush appeared on her cheeks at her improper thoughts, despite the fact that she had just kissed him. She lifted her hands to his mask and he instantly froze, looking at her with undisguised fear in his eyes. Fear that once she removed his mask she would run and scream. That she would leave him standing there alone on the rooftop. That's what she would do. That's what everyone would.

_At least I have the memory from before_, Erik though glumly. _And the memories are more than I could have asked for. But it'll still hurt when she leaves. That's what happens when you get your hopes up. _

He closed his eyes as he felt her untie the mask. He didn't want to see the disgust in her eyes when she saw him again. He felt the cool, winter air touch the newly exposed side of his face. At first he didn't hear anything, and he immediately assumed that she had run away from him, terrified by his face, forgetting for the time being, that Christine was terrible at walking silently and made about as much racket as the bulls he had seen in Persia. Before he could reopen his eyes and pick his mask off the snow covered roof, he felt something delicately brush against his deformed cheek, making him shudder.

Were those her fingers? The smooth skin of her hand brushed over his cheek again. He let out an unbridled moan and quickly silently cursed himself for letting out such a noise. Before he could help himself, he pressed his cheek into the palm of her hand. The warmth of her hand was a sharp contrast to the cold air around them. The gentleness of her hand shocked him. He had only ever felt pain on the usually masked side of his face. Punches, kicks, scratches, ridicule, insults, merciless whipings on his back, cages, laughing observers; no one realizing that the "devil's child" was just a little boy yearning to be loved. A little boy who was in pain. Memories came rushing back to him, as vivid as if they occured yesterday instead of years and years past. A young boy about his age backing away in fear, hiding behind his mother's skirts, the searing pain as a whip made contact with the skin on his back, the laughter as the skin tore on his face as someone else kicked it; blood gushing out of his open wounds, the cage that he was forced to sleep in, the one time the druken men came with a knife and cut his arms...Erik pushed the awful memories out of his mind, trying to focus on the comforting feeling she was creating by lightly caressing his cheeks. His eyes squinted shut tighter, trying to block on the awful memories. Christine seemed to notice his change and pressed her lips gently to his disfigured face. The feeling was like he had got struck by lightning; if getting struck by lightning felt good. Fireworks exploded behind his eyelids and he was pretty sure there was nothing in the world that could ever feel as good as it did at the moment.

"How can you do this?" Erik mumbled quietly.

"Do what?"

"Do what?" repeated Erik. His voice shaking. "How can you kiss my face like that? You shouldn't...an angel like you shouldn't kiss a monster like myself!"

He stepped away from her with a look of pure sadness. He didn't even deserve to grovel at her feet. She frowned and reached out towards him again, but he leaned away. He wasn't worthy of anything she had to offer. He was a monster. A murderer...Devil's child...

"You're not a monster."

"Yes, I am. A monster...and a murderer!"

Frowning, Christine stepped forward a hurt look on her beautiful face when he backed away from her.

"Erik..."

She stepped towards him and before he could react smashed her lips against his. Erik was shocked. He had been blessed with a hug, a kiss, and then by her not running away when he had been unmasked. More than blessed actually. And now, she was kissing him. And he didn't have his mask on.

This was true bliss, Christine decided. Kissing him full on the mouth, without the mask blocking her, sent butterflies into her stomache. Her whole body felt like it was on fire and she didn't want it to stop. She felt overwhelmed by how much she loved him. Putting her hand on his hand on his neck, she pulled him as close as she could. One of his shaking, hesitant hands was placed on the small of her back and the other one was softly caressing her face. Tears were falling down his face again, dampening both his own and Christine's face. She ran her hand through his hair before she felt it shift under her fingers. Praying that he wouldn't pull away, she pushed his wig off of his head and smiled to herself when she her the light -_thunk!_- when the wig dropped into the snow. His natural hair was soft and thin under her fingers. She ran her fingers through it, elicting a small sigh from Erik.

Erik was holding Christine tightly, nervously thinking she would come to her senses and pull away from him and leave him. Even though he knew his grip wasn't going to stop her from doing any of those things. But she didn't. Erik stiffened a bit when he felt his wig fall away from his head exposing the _true _him to her completely. He expected her to run now, when she felt his thin, slightly stringy hair under her fingers, but she didn't. She continued to run her hands through his hair making him sigh in pleasure. She moaned a bit whenever she felt him turn his head a bit to the side, allowing them to get even closer.

Whenever the two did pull apart, it was only because of their need for air. Even though Erik would gladly go without air if it meant getting to continue kiss the love of his life. He nuzzled her neck for a few moments before giving her a small, hesitant kiss on the nose. Erik instantly flinched backwards waiting for the blow that he was surely going to receive for being bold enough to actually kiss her in such a loving way- even though they had just finished kissing a few moments before. But all that arrived was a small giggle.

"Why?" he whispered hoarsely when the blow didn't arrive. "Why aren't you running away in horror? Why aren't you running away from my face? From me? I'm a murderer. I'm monster. Why?"

Christine gazed into his mismatched eyes that were swimming with emotion and were shining with tears. She frowned at his words. He continued on his rant until she just couldn't stand it anymore.

"Because I love you!" Christine blurted out. There was a silence after her words were spoken aloud. She looked around with huge eyes, almost as if she didn't believe that the words had come out of her own mouth. Erik looked like he was about to pass out. Disbelieve was shining in his eyes and worry was written on his face, but beneath both of those things there was a glimmer of hope written on his face and lightening up his eyes.

"You...you...-"

"Yes, _mon ange_. I love you. Despite your flaws. I love you so much," replied Christine giving the taller man a hug.

"Oh, Christine!" Erik cried, tears falling down his face. "I love you too! I love you more than you will ever know!"

Christine pressed her lips against his once more, a giant smile on her face. His shaking hands pressed against her cheeks and tears continued to stream down his face. When they pulled back Erik pulled her into a bone crushing hug, as if he was afraid she was going to disappear. He looked down at her with a look of complete awe and looked like he was debating on whether or not to say something when they heard shouts of "Christine!" from what sounded like Meg.

"They must be wondering why I am," Christine said pulling back. "I must go."

Erik instantly tensed and his grip on the beautiful soprano tightened. He looked down at her with terrified eyes; almost as of he thought that if she left she wouldn't come back.

"I'll be back soon, darling," Christine said giving him a quick kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too, my dear."

Christine squirmed out of his grip and ran towards the warmth inside, the voice calling her name. She stopped turned around once more and blew him a kiss before dashing inside. Erik smiled sadly, bent down and picked up his mask and wig before sweeping off towards his lair to wait until the show was done and he could see Christine again.

"I love you too, my dear."

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_Well, I hoped you liked it! I almost had a fluff overload while writing this... Oh well, everyone loves fluff! Usually..._

_Anyway, I hope you liked it! Please leave a review telling me what you think!_


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